


To the North

by butterfloofies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterfloofies/pseuds/butterfloofies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Yoren’s group is attacked at the south area of the neck, between the Twins and Greywater Watch. Arya, Gendry and Hot Pie are left to figure out their journey on their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Destination

**Author's Note:**

> I really just want Arya and Gendry to go on a journey together
> 
> And apologies ahead of time if I mess up some fact D: but i do hope you like it.

“Remember, I’m Arry, and Gendry and I’re brothers. And Hot Pie, you are our cousin,” Arya repeated for the hundredth time as they approached the inn doors. It was a small place, made of whitewashed wood; the door was covered in an ornate mural that had long faded away.

“I know, I know, just shut up Arry,” Hot Pie snapped, tired of her incessant nagging. Gendry remained silent as usual. It took a lot of self-control for Arya to hold back a retort. They couldn’t afford to be fighting, especially since it was just the three of them left. After the entire group with Yoren had been attacked and captured, the three of them (Lommy had been with them before he died from his leg, an event that brought no sadness to any of them) had no choice but to continue onward alone.

Their plans were still unclear. Hot Pie just wanted to find the nearest village and settle down, but Arya didn’t hesitate to tell him how stupid it was since all the villages were being sacked. Gendry wanted to find a nearby castle and offer his skills as an armorer’s apprentice, and Arya again didn’t hesitate to tell him how stupid it was since all the lords’ lands were also being sacked. Arya knew there were only a few sensible choices–Riverrun, Winterfell, and the Wall. Riverrun and Winterfell were almost equally close, Arya had realized once they had found out where exactly they’d been attacked. Winterfell would be the most sensible choice, but it was still a bit of a way off. Lastly, the Wall. There was a deep-seated desire in Arya to head for the Wall. Once long ago, she and Bran had promised each other that one day they would visit the Wall together. That was just a dream of a summer child, but now Jon was at the Wall, and Arya longed to see Jon and have him muss her hair once more.

The inn had more people than Arya would have expected; it wasn’t crowded or filled to the brim, but there was a decent lot of customers considering the state of affairs of the land. The three took their seats at the only available corner table, ordered two beers, and paid with money they had scavenged on their journey.

“Have you decided on anything?” Gendry asked, lowering his voice.

“I can’t decide between Riverrun and Winterfell. I need to know which road is safer,” Arya answered. “My mother’s at Riverrun, and she would know me on sight and it _is_ a little closer, but…”

“Yes?”

“Winterfell is home, and besides we’re almost in northern territory and some of my father’s bannermen should know me. If not, well, I’m sure I can prove it to them. I remember some things from their visits from a long time ago,” Arya explained.

“So…?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Arya snapped. But that drew attention, and attention was the last thing Arya wanted. She took a deep breath and continued, “I think the first thing we should do is get some money, horses, and a map.”

“About the money thing, I have an idea,” Hot Pie finally piped up. “I overheard the innkeeper saying she could do with some more help. I could be a cook’s apprentice, you know? And you two could clean the place, and we could earn some coins to live off of.”

“Staying in one place is too dangerous, and it’d take a lot of time to earn a little,” Arya argued.

“Some money is better than nothing, and we don’t have to stay long,” Gendry countered. “And if we listen to the gossip here, we can get an idea of what’s going on.”

“But we could be recognized.”

“Just a few weeks.”

“One week.”

“Two weeks,” Gendry said stubbornly, his blue eyes unmoving. It wasn’t often that Gendry stood his ground on something (usually he just let Arya make the decisions), but then he was set on something, there was no use arguing.

“Two weeks,” Arya repeated.

Hot Pie left and disappeared to the kitchens to speak with the owner. After several minutes, he beckoned for Arya and Gendry to join him.

“This is Marya. She owns this place,” Hot Pie explained.

“So you runaways want to work here?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Arya replied, trying to seem as innocent as possible.

“Where you from?”

“Um, we–“

“This is my little brother, Arry,” Gendry said firmly, placing a hand on Arya’s shoulder as a protective motion. “I’m Gendry, and this is our cousin Hot Pie. We’ve traveled from King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing, eh? Now what’re a couple of street rats from King’s Landing doing all the way up here?”

“We were traveling with a group, and we were attacked. But the three of us managed to escape.”

“You’re not outlaws are you?” Marya narrowed her eyes.

“No, ma’am.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “I do need some more hands around here. I’ll give you food and a place to sleep and little bit of wages.”

“We only want to stay for two weeks,” Arya quickly blurted.

Marya only shrugged, “Don’t matter to me. Now I want the three of you to go wash up. Can’t be handling food with so much dirt. Hot Pie, go find my husband. He’ll get you started in the kitchens.” She turned to Gendry. “ You seem like a strong young man. You’ll find my daughter in the back. She’ll want your help lifting some things. When you’re done, come back here. And you, little girl– that’s right, I know you’re a girl, a woman just knows these things– you need a change of clothes and you’ll be serving tables.” Arya frowned. A change of clothes meant she’d need to look like a girl.  

It wasn’t hard work, just frustrating. Sometimes the customers would make bawdy jokes at her, but if Marya ever caught them she’d give them a smack upside the head. She seemed to be well-known around these parts, and her service and food was well-appreciated. Arya grew to like Marya, but just after a few days, Arya was itching to get moving again. Hot Pie and Gendry seemed to like being settled, even if just for a bit. Hot Pie was always in the kitchens, learning a new recipe from Marya’s husband, a fat but jolly man. Gendry always seemed to be helping out Marya’s daughter, Shella. She wasn’t a specially pretty girl, but she was four-and-ten and she had a bosom. Arya didn’t like the way she was always blushing and giggling at whatever Gendry said, although the big lug himself didn’t seem like he’d noticed the special attention he was receiving.

On the sixth day, when Arya couldn’t handle being so pent up anymore and there weren’t too many customers, she decided to take a walk. The sun was high in the sky, but the air was still as cold as night, a sign that winter was truly upon them. The inn was a bit far off from the Kingsroad– thank the gods for that– and situated on the outskirts of a small but still untouched village.

There was a nearby forest, and Arya could feel it calling to her. It was a forest of the north. Not like the trees down south that shed their leaves in the winter and were only beautiful in the spring and summer. No, this was a forest of winter trees, trees that never lost their green color even in the harshest of winters. Arya inhaled and the scent of the pines overwhelmed her. She wiped away a small tear in the corner of her eye and with a sudden burst of energy, she sprinted into the forest. The cold wind whipped against her and blew her hair back– she would need to cut her hair again soon– and the occasional pine branch scraped against her skin. But oh, oh, oh, this was the North.

And then she saw it. And it brought a stream of tears from her eyes. Slowly, slowly, she walked until she stood face-to-face with the weirwood. Arya gently rested her hand upon the tree, and she realized that it was crying too, and they remained there, unmoving, two crying souls. She realized then, that it was to Winterfell she needed to travel, not Riverrun.

She kneeled in front of the tree, listening to the rustle of its leaves speaking to her, and she imagined that her father was kneeling next to her.

“Father, why doesn’t the weirwood ever answer?” Arya had asked once.

“It does, sweetling. But first you must learn to speak its language,” her father had replied in that wise tone of his.

Speak its language, Arya thought. The wind rushed the trees, as if whispering _north, north, north_. “I know,” Arya whispered, “I’m going north. I’m going home.”

“And where is home?” a voice asked that made Arya jump. She instinctively reached for Needle, which we realized she had left it back at the inn.

“You?” Arya asked, recognizing the man she had free from his celled wagon when they had been attacked. “Jaqen H’ghar.”

Jaqen H’ghar was leaning casually against a pine, but his demeanor did not make Arya lower her guard.

“A girl is going home?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her.

“That’s none of your business.”

“A man had come here to repay a girl three favors, but a man does not believe a girl needs them anymore.”

“What favors?”

“No, it is a thing of the past. But a man cannot completely forget such an action; it would not be, eh, honorable.”

“What do you want?”

“I do not want anything. It is a girl who wants so much.” He reached for his pocket, causing Arya to flinch and step back. “No, no, do not fear a man,” he chuckled, pulling out a small trinket and tossing it to her.

“A coin?” Arya asked, examining it. Except it wasn’t a coin of the Seven Kingdoms.

“A special coin. If a girl ever needs help, give it to any man in Braavos with the words _valar morghulis_. Say it, _valar morghulis_ ,” he ordered.

“Valar morghulis,” Arya repeated, confused but intrigued. He smiled and turned to leave, but Arya called out, “Wait, where are you going to go now?”

“I? Jaqen H’ghar?” he chuckled. “Jaqen H’ghar is going to disappear, but I have other things to do.” He turned around again, and Arya jumped back, startled. His face had completely changed, and he now had a terrible hook nose and a gold tooth.

“How?” was all Arya managed to ask before he disappeared back into the forest. The leaves where he had stood remained completely undisturbed; the coin was the only evidence that he had ever visited her. “Valar morghulis,” she whispered again before stuffing the coin into her pocket. 


	2. The Crannogmen

The appearance of the weirwood and Jaqen’s visit calmed Arya down significantly. She found a map and began plotting their journey north. They were close to Greywater Watch, home to House Reed, which Arya knew was loyal to House Stark. The only problem was that Greywater Watch was strange in that it was built upon a moving island and no one could ever find it. This would force them to continue northward to Moat Cailin, an ancient but powerful stronghold. It seemed the best choice, since it should be under the control of northmen, and Arya hoped some of them might be able to offer assistance.

As such, only a few days from the end of their two weeks, Arya felt as if Theon himself had punched her in the gut when she overheard news that the Ironmen had taken Moat Cailin.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Arya groaned, punching a piece of firewood as hard as she could. She recoiled as the punch sent a wave of pain through her arm.

“Don’t hit it if it’s only going to hurt you,” Gendry scolded, unaffected by the news. He shouldn’t be so calm; this was a terrible setback on their plans. Instead, he just continued chopping firewood without a care in the world.

“Don’t you understand?” she asked, desperation seeping into her voice. “If the Greyjoys hold Moat Cailin, there’s no way we’ll ever get past it. I never paid much attention to my other lessons, but I remember learning Moat Cailin is an amazing stronghold. You can’t get past it from the south. I’ll never be able to get to Winterfell, to home.”

Gendry must have realized how upset she really was because he finally set his axe down and sat down beside her. “You’ll figure out a way. You’re a smart little lady,” he grinned, giving her hair a tousle. Arya’s heart skipped a beat. It reminded her terribly of her Jon used to do that.

“Gendry!” an airy, girly voice called, interrupting Arya’s thoughts. It was Shella calling. “Almost done?”

“Almost, sorry, I’ll get back to work,” Gendry apologized, picking up his axe again. Arya hated the way Shella looked at him, the way her eyes traced his every muscle and movement, the way she seemed to be undressing him. Gendry must have been nearing eight-and-ten, Arya guessed, a man grown. He did seem the type who would be attractive to many women: well-built from his work as an armorer’s apprentice, tall, with hair the color of dragonglass and eyes brighter than the sky on the clear day. But Arya didn’t care– she didn’t want to lose a member of her already small pack. She knew what it felt like to watch your pack disappear; after all, her father was dead, her mother and Robb were far away, she and Sansa had been split up, and Jon had been confined to the Wall. The only comforting thought was that she could soon be reunited with Bran and Rickon.

“Arya, Mother wants you up front,” she ordered. “There’s a huge group just come in.” Arya stalked back to the inn, a little unwilling to leave Shalla and Gendry alone.

“Arya, come bring these beers to those men,” Meria ordered, pointing to party of at least ten men gathered around the center table.

The group had a slight air of self-importance, Arya could see, by the way they talked of the war as if they knew everything. The odd thing was they weren’t in armor of any sort or dressed like knights at all; rather, they had all donned simple clothes, the sort that would camouflage well in a forest. A few even had mud smeared over their cheeks, and one had a net in hand.

“Don’t suppose ya got any frog, now do ya?” the one with the net asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Wynton, we’re not in the swamps right now,” another laughed.

“We’re not that far, and ya know Lord Howland would’ve asked too,” Wynton replied.

“Far from Greywater Watch?” Arya asked. She knew it was stupid, she knew she might have just given herself to an enemy, she knew she shouldn’t trust anyone, but if these men were really from Greywater Watch, it was a chance she had to take.

“What’s it matter to you, girl?” a particularly frightening old man asked.

“I- I- are you from Greywater? House Reed?” Arya pressed again.

“Who’s asking?” a young man who seemed to be at the center of the group finally spoke up.

Arya gulped. All or nothing. “Arya of House Stark,” she announced, mustering all her confidence.

Several of the men burst out laughing at her statement. “You say you’re Arya Stark?” one with mud on him laughed.

“Yes, I am. I may not look it but I am a lady of Winterfell, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, sister to the Starks Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon,” she declared, praying that they would accept this.

“Any little girl can claim to be Arya Stark,” the young man challenged. “Why should we believe _you_?”

“Because…because… I remember Lord Howland when he once came to visit Winterfell. He’s a big man but very kind and he smiles, and my father always says that if it weren’t for Howland Reed, he’d have in the battle at the Tower of Joy. And, and…” Arya trailed off, not sure of what else she could say.

The young man slowly approached her and kneeled down, moving the hair from her face as if to get a better look. “Once I visited Winterfell with my uncle,” he said, “I met the Stark family. Lord Stark was a kind and fair lord, and his Lady Catelyn a gentle woman. His son Robb was talented with a sword and defeated in only minutes, though he was four years younger than I. His daughter Sansa, though only eight, was already very pretty little lady. Of his younger sons, Bran was only a young child and Rickon unborn. He had another daughter though, wild and full of energy. I never spoke to her, but I saw her more often than not in rags, covered with dirt and mud, sneaking around somewhere to play. Do you know what the Winterfell servants liked to call her?”

“Arya Underfoot,” Arya replied in a whisper, desperately trying to keep tears back.

At her reply, he bent his head and said, “My lady, I am Rickard Reed, nephew of Howland Reed. These some of our bannerman, and we are all at your service.” As he spoke, the rest of the group followed his lead and knelt. Arya felt a little uncomfortable when she realized the whole inn was staring. Who knew what secret enemies could be in the crowd? But she supposed if she wanted help, she would have to bear through this. “I am sorry to have questioned my lady so, but we must be careful of who we are trusting these days.”

“Thank you,” Arya replied, a big smile spreading across her face.

“Now what is it that my lady requires?” he asked.

“I need to return to Winterfell, but I’ve heard the Greyjoys hold Moat Cailin,” Arya explained.

“Well, actually…” Rickard stood up and turned to his fellow men. They seemed to be having a wordless discussion. “First, if you would be so kind, could my lady tell us how she managed to make her way to the Neck while the rest of the world believed her dead?”

Arya had to grin at that, and she began her story. 


	3. The Way to Greywater Watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really fun to write about Greywater, especially since we don't really know anything about it, but yeah i hope i did it well enough that you guys can kinda imagine it the same way i did

“Gendry, Hot Pie, we’re leaving,” Arya announced to her friends.

“Leaving? To where?” Hot Pie asked, still kneading bread.

“To Greywater Watch. Lord Howland’s men’ll take us,” Arya explained, impatient to go.

“It’s not been two weeks yet,” Gendry reminded her.

“What? No! We can’t wait that long,” Arya insisted. What was wrong her friends?

“Arya, there’s something I need to tell you,” Hot Pie said slowly, with a look that said he was a bit afraid of her temper right now. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t like traveling. I like it here. I like making food and having a place to sleep and something to eat every night. I want to stay here.”

“No, but– we-we’re a pack,” Arya replied, still unwilling to believe his words

“Sorry, Arya, I’ve already talked to Meria about this,” Hot Pie said, pity in his eyes.

“But, I-I– Gendry, Gendry, you’re coming with me right?” she asked, afraid of his answer.

Gendry had an unreadable expression, as if he was thoroughly studying his situation. The long pause was breaking her, until he finally nodded and said, “They’ve no use for my skills here, and I’ve nowhere else to go but with you.”

Arya breathed a sigh of relief and found it much easier to forgive Hot Pie now that she wouldn’t be completely alone. “So this is really goodbye then, Hot Pie?” Arya asked. Hot Pie wouldn’t have been her first choice as a companion to go on a trek across the Seven Kingdoms, but he had still been a member of her pack, small as it had become. She would miss telling him to shut up or how stupid something he’d said was, Arya realized.

“I guess it is,” Hot Pie replied, walking over and extending his hand.

Arya gave him a firm handshake and with a smile and a “take care then,” left the kitchen.

“I’m going to explain to Meria that we’re leaving,” Arya said to Gendry before running off. After everything was taken care of and the Crannogmen were ready to leave, Arya and Gendry gathered their few belongings and left the inn. It gave Arya a bit of pleasure to have seen the distraught look on Shella’s face when she had learned Gendry would be leaving.

“You’ve never been to Greywater Watch, have you, Arya?” Rickard asked as they headed toward further north toward the swamps of the Crannogmen. Arya only shook her head. “And I’m sure you’ve never been, boy.”

“No, m’lord,” Gendry answered.

“Ever heard of it?”

“Once. There was a time when Master Mott was making a helmet for a Reed. Explained that it was a bit different sort of helmet, not like the ones most knights use.”

“That’s right, boy,” one of the men who went by Medgar said, blatant pride in his voice. “We Crannogmen aren’t yer usual sort of men.”

“You were an apprentice under Tobho Mott?” Rickard asked.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“So what was your terrible crime, an apprentice boy like you to head for the Wall?”

“No crime, m’lord. Master Mott only told me one day that arrangements had been made for me to join the Night’s Watch to continue practicing smithing at the Wall.”

“That’s a hard story to believe,” another Crannogman spoke up. “Sent to the Wall without a reason? And you just agree to it?”

Gendry shrugged. “I’m thankful to have ever worked under Master Mott, ‘specially since my mother only worked in an alehouse. Whatever he did, he had a reason.”

Medgar chuckled, “Don’t find lads obedient as you anymore these days. Now they’re always questionin’ yer orders.”

“Only ‘cause you give ‘em stupid orders, Medgar.”

“Still ain’t right,” Medgar harrumphed.

As they had been talking, the path they had been following had disappeared and had been replaced by muddy, uneven ground. Up ahead it was easy to spot the swampy green waters and the thickets of giant trees of types Arya had never seen before. The water had an odd green tint and was only transparent the first foot or so, and the shoreline was dotted with various bunches of plants and reeds. Lastly, Arya realized why it must be near impossible to navigate this swamp: there was a heavy fog that settled lower than it seemed possible and seeped deep into the trees.

“This way,” Rickard called. Arya hadn’t even noticed he had moved toward a bush of reeds. As she walked over to join him, she noticed there were actually several canoes camouflaged with the swamp. Arya was respecting these men more and more.

“So how do you find Greywater Watch?” Arya asked after they’d all boarded their canoes.

“That’s a trade secret, my lady,” Medgar answered.

“Lighten up, Medgar,” Wynton laughed. “We could tell her and she’d still never find it herself.”

“Then tell me,” Arya urged, curious about these swamp-dwellers. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear to the old gods and the new.”

Rickard finally spoke up, chuckling, “If my lady is so eager, it seems we have no other choice than to divulge our secrets. Do you see these reeds? Well, if you look carefully enough you’ll notice they sway in a certain direction– toward Greywater.”

“That’s not enough though, my lady,” Wynton piped up. “The reeds’ll only give you a vague idea.”

“Crannogmen are raised to notice the slightest change in the life in these swamps,” Rickard continued. “Greywater affects the plants and animals here in a very subtle way. My lady and her friend most likely haven’t noticed that the frogs that inhabit this area are different from the ones who live near the shore. This certain type of frog likes to follow the island.”

Arya startled at this statement. She hadn’t even noticed there were frogs at all. When she looked more carefully, she realized that there a few frogs bigger than she’d ever seen before jumping here and there– and that the already-giant trees had grown even taller as they paddled inward. “Does that mean every time you are returning to Greywater, you don’t know where it is?” she asked.

“We figure it out ‘long the way,” Medgar answered.

“What happens if you can’t find it?” Arya asked.

“True Crannogmen can always find it,” Wynton laughed. “It’s also why we like to travel in groups– two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“Once you’ve learned to recognize these signs, it becomes easy to find your way– it just takes some practice is all,” Rickard smiled.

“Speakin’ of signs, those flowers mean we’re gettin’ close,” Medgar pointed out.

Rickard nodded, pulled out a horn, and blew a melody of five notes. “It tells them we’re arriving back home,” he explained.

 Less than a minute of paddling later, Arya noticed a dark grey shadow growing above them. As they pushed forward into the swamp, she realized the shadow was the grey stone walls of Greywater Watch itself. It was not a massive castle, more like a Winterfell in miniature, due to the fact that it was on a swamp island. On the highest tower flew the banner of House Reed: a black lizard-lion on grey-green; it almost blended in perfectly with the grey fog. They docked on shore and were soon followed by the other groups. She and Gendry stood motionless, just gazing around them and taking in the wonder that was the floating island of Greywater Watch.

“Follow me,” Rickard motioned, after he and his men had safely set the canoes on shore. They followed him through a high-arched wooden gate into Greywater.

“Inform Lord Reed of our arrival,” Wynton ordered of one of the passing servants, who nodded and hurried off. They continued toward the main room, which was considerably smaller than that of Winterfell or the Red Keep, but _very comfortable and snug_ , Arya thought.

“It is true then. Ned Stark’s daughter herself has come to Greywater,” Lord Howland Reed announced as he entered. He was as Arya remembered him, but with more grey hair.

 In a moment of panic, Arya realized she hadn’t practiced her manners in a long time; she barely remembered how to curtsy. In an awkward motion, she bent her legs and dipped her head and hoped Lord Howland would forgive her. “Lord Reed,” Arya began. _What would her mother say in these situations?_ “Thank you so much for receiving us.”

“It is my pleasure. You’ve grown, child, but you have the same spirit as you did those years ago when saw you last,” he smiled. “And may I introduce my lady wife, Jyana.” She was even smaller than he, but she had the same friendly smile. To Arya’s surprise, however, Lady Reed was not dressed in those lavish gowns court ladies liked to wear; instead she wore a very simple dark green gown, made of the same rougher material as that of the men’s tunics.

“My lady,” Arya said, her curtsy a little better this time. Lady Reed replied with a simple curtsy that made Arya feel a little more comfortable.

“My grievances go to your family, Arya. Your father was a great man and an even greater friend, and never a traitor,” Lord Reed said sadly.

“Thank you, my lord,” Arya bowed her head, and trying to be as polite and lady-like as she could muster being, “My lord, I was hoping you could provide us passage past Moat Cailin. Lord Rickard mentioned there was a way through Greywater?”

“That there is,” Lord Reed replied, raising an eyebrow at his nephew.

“My friend and I had traveled from King’s Landing with a man Yoren from the Night’s Watch, and he had meant to drop me off at Winterfell along the way, but then we were attacked and now… well, I’d still like to head for Winterfell.”

Lord and Lady Reed’s eyes were filled with such pity and sadness that Arya found nearly unbearable. It was a sad story, but it wasn’t pity Arya wanted– it was a passage past Moat Cailin.

“Arya,” Lady Reed spoke, “we thought you already knew.”

“Winterfell’s been taken,” Lord Reed explained, “by Theon Greyjoy and his band of ironmen.” 


	4. Waiting

“We must be very thankful, however, that our children and your brothers Bran and Rickon are unharmed,” Lady Reed said.

“Theon? Theon Greyjoy?” Arya asked for the hundredth time. Theon had always been a bit of a dick, but he was one of Robb’s best friends. How could he betray them so easily? And where did he even find a band of ironmen?

“Ned Stark’s ward, son of Balon Greyjoy,” Lord Reed answered. “I am sorry to have sprung this on you so suddenly. Perhaps we should all retire to our quarters a while, and we’ll continue discussing this at dinner.”

“If Arya would follow me,” Lady Reed gestured, “and Rickard, please guide her friend to his room.”

Arya followed Lady Reed up a flight of stony stairs, down a warmly green-tinted passageway and into a modest guest room.

“Perhaps we should find a change of clothes for you,” Lady Reed smiled, looking amusedly at Arya’s disheveled appearance. Arya cringed a little at the thought of having to dress up in a proper gown again. Lady Reed must have noticed Arya’s displeasure because she laughed and said, “Oh do not worry, my daughter Meera was not one for fancy gowns either. She preferred a tunic and breeches. ‘Much easier to hunt in,’ she would say. I’m sure you two would have been fast friends. I have heard she and Jojen enjoy Winterfell and the company of your brother Brandon.”

Perhaps Arya and Meera would have been fast friends– Arya already liked Lord and Lady Reed– and Meera sounded much more fun than Sansa, but such thoughts of founding new friendships were for the follies of summer. And in winter, it was already hard enough to maintain your existing friendships.

Arya was first washed and scrubbed for a good hour as the maids muttered things about that state of her hair (“all these twigs!”). Arya mused bitterly about what they would have said about it had they seen her before she had cleaned up at the inn. When her hair had dried and all its knots been untangled, she was brought a gown as simple as Lady Reed’s; it was an olive green lined with brown fur at the collar and sleeve-ends. When she put it on, it surprised her to be much more comfortable than her gowns at Winterfell. It wasn’t nearly as tight and Arya found she could still move freely– though still a little more limiting than tunic and breeches, but it was a much happier prospect than the gowns Sansa loved so.

When they convened for dinner, Arya was surprised how…nice… Gendry looked when he wasn’t covered in dirt, sweat, and coal dust. His tunic was a tad tight (after all, Gendry stood a giant amongst the Crannogmen), but that did a nice job of showing off his refined blacksmith muscles. She blushed when he caught her staring and prayed that he didn’t realize what she was staring at.

He walked over and was about to make a comment, but Arya stopped him, “If you laugh, I’ll punch you. It was the best dress of the lot, alright?”

“I was actually just going to say you look nice, like a real lady,” he replied. It didn’t escape Arya’s notice that he wasn’t looking directly at her.

There were many things Arya wanted to say to that: “shut up,” “I don’t want to look like a real lady,” or “I’m not a lady, not really.” But instead she settled for a simple “Thank you.”

They each took their seats in the dining hall. It surprised Arya that there was no head table for Lord and Lady Reed; instead they ate their meals with the rest of the men. The entire party fit easily at one table, as many of the men had joined Robb and others had gone north to Winterfell.

“The important thing is that everyone is safe, Arya,” Lady Reed offered as words of comfort.

“Now then, what are your plans?” Lord Reed asked. “You surely cannot head for Winterfell now.”

Arya was silent for a bit; she hadn’t thought about her next step. With Winterfell out of the question, “I suppose I must either make for Riverrun or the Wall,” Arya answered.

“Your mother is at Riverrun, isn’t she?” Lord Reed asked. “And your natural-brother at the Wall.”

“They’re both long journeys, my lord,” Rickard Reed spoke up. “And neither safe.”

“That’s right,” Medgar agreed, “the journey to Riverrun means Lannisters and bandits and that Brotherhood, and the journey to the Wall means  ironmen.”

“The Wall would be a bit easier though,” Rickard mused. “At least there are fewer bandits, and we have friends with strongholds along the way.”

“But the number of ironmen seem to be increasing. I’ve heard rumors that the Kraken’s daughter’s taking a group of men inland,” Wynton added.

“She could stay here,” Lady Reed suggested softly. All eyes fell on her– that was an idea they had not thought of. “Wait and see what happens in the North and South, and it _is_ much safer in Greywater.”

“That would be the best choice,” Lord Reed nodded. “Arya, we would be honored for you to remain at Greywater.” Arya bit her lip– she wanted to keep moving.

“At least for a little while, dear,” Lady Reed insisted gently, but with something in her voice that made Arya agree. “And in the meanwhile, we should send word to your lady mother that you are safe.”

“I thought Greywater didn’t have a rookery,” Arya said, confused.

“We don’t,” Lord Reed answered, “and that leaves us a little disconnected from the rest of the world. But we can send a messenger to Riverrun.” And so a rider was dispatched to inform Lady Catelyn that her daughter was safe at Greywater Watch. 

The conversation took a more light-hearted turn when things were settled and soon laughter filled the air. Even in the midst of finding that both their children were taken at Winterfell, Lord and Lady Reed managed to continue smiling. Arya supposed the least she could do was find that same strength. These Crannogmen were small in size but big in spirit.

They all retired early that night, hoping to let their guests rest. But Arya couldn’t sleep. The feel of the featherbed, of soft blankets and silk curtains was so unfamiliar. It was odd to think that she wasn’t going to be sleeping on the straw of the inn or the cold ground outside, curled up against Gendry for warmth. She wondered how Gendry was liking all this food and comfort and luxury. It was odd to think that this bull-headed boy turned out to be a steadfast companion and a member of her wolf pack (weak as it was at the moment).

She had been hoping so desperately to reunite with Bran and even introduce him to Gendry. Winterfell should have been an oasis of safety in the midst of this war, Arya thought bitterly. It was home, and home was supposed to be something no one could take away. She had planned on regaling Bran with her adventures and talking in the godswood and introducing Gendry to Mikken and sneaking food from the kitchens the way she did in the old days. _Stop being stupid_ , Arya reprimanded herself, _you’re one-and-ten now, and it’s time to grow up._ She couldn’t return to those days– they didn’t exist anymore. And with that, Arya fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess not too much happened in this chapter, but I promise shit will go down next chapter.


End file.
